Dream of you
by ShadowDianne
Summary: Regina doesn't like Emma. No, really, she does not like Emma. Emma is obnoxious. Emma meddles in affairs that aren't her business. Emma makes Henry laugh when he won't even smile at her. And yet, AND YET, whenever Regina falls asleep, she dreams of Emma CONSTANTLY. BUT REGINA DOESN'T LIKE EMMA. Right? Right! Asked by delirious-comfort via tumblr


_Dream of you_

 _"Why are you here again?"_

The question escaped her mouth in a mumble, incoherent, pathetic and she could almost hear Cora's teachings of how a proper lady should always speak loud and clear. Lessons ingrained into her mind by tutors with glazed eyes and empty chests. But she couldn't help herself as she stared at Emma, furious, righteous Emma whose eyes gleamed with anger that made Regina's grasp on her doorframe weaker as she swallowed, feeling the push on the air between them, the need to take a step away a hot whisper on the back of her mind.

And she had the sudden feeling that the "again" on the question was off; just as the light in the sky beyond Emma's frame had suddenly changed from high noon to late evening, the warmth of early September now turned into the chill, humid air of late November, puffs of air beginning to form in front of her as she felt her throat tightening, the cardigan she wore scratching her wrists.

Emma didn't seem fazed by the tension, the one that threatened to crumb Regina's lungs and she merely tilted her head, blonde tresses glimmering under the glowing orange light of the porch, the color feeling dimmer in a way, beckoning Regina's closer even if a part of her wanted to turn, wanted to move away from the door and close it with trembling digits.

Something that made Regina want to spit, a sudden acidic taste bubbling on the back of her mouth as Emma's pink lips turned; a slow smile curving them.

"Because of you."

The answer was a whisper but clear, soft, like an unmovable truth that made Regina gasp and shake her head, her own hair tickling momentarily her cheeks as she saw how Emma took a step forward, red leather jacket and blonde locks burning her retinas.

She felt the weight of long cold fingers on her hands, easing her grip on the doorframe, the wood -or was it stone now? - seeming to almost crumble beneath them. She felt Emma's eyes on her as she rose said hand and kissed each finger, never once looking away as Regina felt her heart thumping loudly on her ears, about to burst on her throat. She felt the tenderness of the touch change suddenly, slightly chilly skin growing hotter as Emma take another step closer, door closing behind her as she let go of her hand, raising her own until she cupped Regina's face, tugging slightly at her hair as she pushed Regina against the nearest wall, eyes never closing, never leaving her face, her lips, her neck.

She felt a gasp pushing to escape her lips as she tried to call for the other woman's title, the "sheriff" never quite reaching its destination as she moaned, Emma's right hand lowering, grasping the back of her neck, pulling at her hair.

"I came to you."

She heard the words, tasted them even, as she felt lips getting closer to her own, mouth tingling and the slowest trickle of a kind of power it had been decades since she had last felt it beginning to crackle deep inside her veins.

 _"Regina."_

She was unable to keep her eyes open, she felt her eyelids grow heavy, fire lighting her skin, her fingers clawing at Emma's jacket, pushing her closer, closer…

"Emma!"

The sudden darkness that surrounded her the moment she opened her eyes, sweat forming on her brow, threw her off for a moment, dizziness accompanying her as she looked around, hands clenching around sheets so tightly she could feel the pain on her tendons. However, as the word "dream" came crashing down to her she almost gaged, the feeling of her pajamas too much for her skin to bear.

She hated this, truly hated this and, as she put her naked feet on the floor, trying to get away from the bed as if it had personally wronged her, Regina pressed the tips of her fingers against her eyes sockets, the slight pain reducing in a way the turmoil she felt on the mouth of her stomach as her mind's eye kept conjuring Emma's green irises.

She needed to stop this, the thought reached her mind as she let out a sob, one that felt almost unhinged to her as her other hand grasped the lapels of her pajamas, her quickened pulse thumping against her fingertips. She needed to stop this once and for all.

She hated the woman, despise her even and, on her waking hours there was nothing she wouldn't do it that meant to see her go away from the town, leave the place so she could forget her existence, the problems she had brought to Storybrooke. To her home. And yet, as she watched the shadows that covered the floor in blacks and greys, she could feel her whole body tremble at the truth that it had already been a month since she had started to have these dreams. Dreams on which Emma walked into her house and, with burning, scalding eyes, pinned her to the nearest wall.

Sometimes she kissed her. Sometimes she merely stared at her, eyes blazing and soft tresses against Regina's wandering hands. Sometimes Regina fought against the grasp, being her the one who put the other woman against the wall, against the floor, fighting her until she kissed her. Until she fucked her.

And sometimes, only sometimes, Emma merely watched at her and told her that she knew who she was. Who she had been.

Those were the ones that made Regina tremble the most at because, instead of looking at her with hatred or disgust, Emma's eyes called for her in a way the real woman would never do.

And she hated herself for that. Because she hated the woman, wanted her gone and yet the dreams continued, made her wake up in the middle of the night, heart pumping and the vague taste of something she hadn't savored in years just an inch away from the tip of her tongue.

Magic. Power.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, refraining herself from leaving the room and going downstairs, a tumbler full of cider an idea she wasn't quite opposed to. She needed to sleep. That much was clear. She needed to get the blonde out of her system.

She wasn't quite sure of how or why.

Groaning, she put both hands at her sides, dipping them into the plush mattress until its fabric didn't let her sink her fingers any lower.

She needed to sleep; that was all. She needed to defeat the other woman and send her packing, send her away so she wouldn't make Henry smile at her any longer with a kind of reverence that made her skin prickle. She needed to simply digest the feeling that the woman produced in her, erase it, make it disappear.

Because, she thought, old whispers echoing on the back of her mind. She couldn't want Emma Swan.

It was impossible.

Right?

The ticking of the clock on her nightstand laughed at her.


End file.
